COEUR d'ALENE - Maybe Fred McMurray will work a piece of that old Norway spruce into his cabin like an ornament, an art piece, a real keepsake.

He'll try and take a chunk of trunk, after he asks the city, and blend it into his getaway home on the North Fork of the Coeur d'Alene River.

A permanent reminder - as it has always been - of when the former Air Force navigator was shot down over North Vietnam Sept. 12, 1972, and held as a prisoner of war for four months.

"Not kind of - it is special to me," said McMurray of the Freedom Tree, the spruce tree at the end of Fourth Street that was given its name after McMurray, born, raised and retired in Coeur d'Alene, was shot out of the sky and declared missing in action.

It was the tree to which McMurray and his family were escorted after he was released at war's end and flew back home.

The family stepped off the plane at Fairchild Air Force Base in Spokane, and was driven straight to the spruce.

"Really beyond words," McMurray said of seeing the crowds that lined the street and gathered at the spot to hear him make a speech. "Excited. Emotional. I was a little numb."

For 40 years, McMurray has taken guests to visit the tree, where a plaque with his name sits, dedicated to POWs and soldiers missing in action. It has been a fun piece to show off.

But it's coming down.

The tree is being removed as part of the McEuen Field redevelopment project, which begins March 18.

"I really hate to see that happen," McMurray said. "But I accept it."

While the whole 65-foot tree can't be salvaged, the city said it wants to keep 30 feet of it and turn it into a memorial to preserve history. The parks department said in a press release it wants to make benches and possibly chain saw artwork on about 8 feet of the trunk.

After that, it's open to suggestions.

"I had no idea," McMurray said about making keepsakes out of the wood, which led to his idea to ask for a sliver. "I think I'll talk to the guys about getting a part."

The tree was planted around the 1960s as a way to prevent Fourth Street from extending farther south and development encroaching onto Tubbs Hill. In late 1972, a plaque was placed at the base of the tree to honor McMurray, who had been shot down, but whose whereabouts were unknown.

"Nothing is going on in your mind," he said, remembering the dogfight that took him and the F-4 pilot, Zub, down. "You're just fighting for survival."

It was Sept. 11, 1972, in the United States, McMurray's anniversary with wife Judy, but Sept. 12 in North Vietnam. They were flying escort for bombing planes whose targets were railroad lines. McMurray and Zub encountered an enemy fighter. The planes circled each other, but disengaged before firing. It turned out to be a decoy. The real attack was coming from above, knowing Zub and McMurray had been distracted.

"That's my job to keep 6 o'clock cleared, but I didn't," McMurray said of the direction from which the disabling blow came.

"I think we're on fire," McMurray told his pilot after the hit.

"No (bleep), Fred," Zub said.

"That's a direct quote," McMurray said Thursday, remembering the words.

The two parachuted out. Zub went south, where he was also captured. McMurray went north, and landed in thick jungle. The plane's goal was to crash in the sea where the Navy would rescue them. It was 14 miles away, but that was McMurray's goal too, even on foot and with an injured back suffered in the crash. Over the next 24 hours, he ran to the east and hid along the way. North Vietnamese were looking for him. They had seen the parachute come down.

"Bad guys wandering all around," he said. "They'd shoot their guns every once in a while."

After the first day, McMurray turned on his radio to signal a frequency to a hovering helicopter.

McMurray was hiding under a bush, covered, too scared to talk on the radio or look at the chopper but he thought he could tell by the engine it was an American search and rescue bird, so he wanted to send a signal of his location.

But it wasn't an ally. After his location was blown, he tried to wait it out, still buried under brush, as North Vietnamese solders patrolled for him, circling closer to the bush.

"I just felt this tap on my shoulder," McMurray said. "I looked up and this guy is just smiling, motioning for me to get up. So I did. And I was a prisoner."

It was a hard time, he said of being captive, and describing it is a difficult question to answer.

His family didn't know he had survived the crash until months later when the war was over, and his name was listed as a prisoner who would be turned over.

The time as a POW is something that's always a part of him, McMurray said, but it fades as the rest of life takes over.

He has three kids, six grandchildren, and flew commercially after retiring from the Air Force in 1988. His Coeur d'Alene home has a room full of his medals, newspaper clippings, and photos of the young navigator after his return.

"I'm a lucky man," he said.

And he has a tree.

When it comes down, he'll ask for a piece to add to his personal collection - a request parks director Doug Eastwood said the city would "absolutely" oblige.

Then there is the new tree planned for the park - to keep history going.

"If they saved a part of that and started a new one, well, that'd be pretty neat," McMurray said.

To share ideas on how to use the Freedom Tree wood to preserve history, visit the city's Facebook page at CDAgov or email amyf@cdaid.org.